Weeping Willow
by Evening Starbossa
Summary: The fire has destroyed the opera house, and two people are left to face the unknown future together.


**A/N: This story was inspired by a single mental image that's stuck with me ever since I pictured it. I apologize in advance if there are any similarities between this and any other stories on here. I do not have time to look through every single one, so please know that any similarities are not intentional. **

**Weeping willows have been my favorite tree ever since I can remember. I just like the idea of the branches hanging down like a curtain...a perfect hideaway to read or relax or just...be. **

**Anyway, before my AN gets more descriptive than the actual story, I just have one more thing to say. I do not own 'Phantom of the Opera' or any of its characters.**

** "Marguerite, **you're still here," I remember saying to you. You were on your dorm room bed, dressed all in black. Even your pale skin and golden hair were caked with ashes and soot. "The fire was weeks ago. I would have thought everyone would be long gone by now." Yes, in the weeks that followed the fire, I had stayed in my caverns, crying all the tears I had for the love I had lost. I was no longer the Phantom of the Opera. I destroyed my masks, smashing them all against the stone cavern walls. I couldn't destroy her, though. I probably never will. She is still precious to me, even though she's a world away, wrapped in the arms of someone else. In those weeks following her departure, I forced myself to build up a different sort of mask. It was a mask of indifference. I did not trust myself to feel any other way. If I had, it would have killed me. And so I left my caverns to explore the home I had destroyed. That's when I found you, and my new mask nearly melted away.

You turned to face me then. Tears had formed a path down your cheeks through the soot, your brown eyes were surrounded with red, and your hair was all in tangles. You did not show fear. Perhaps your grief had made you numb. Perhaps, like your mother, you allowed your compassion to overshadow any fear you might have had. Either way, you looked at me that day as if I was any normal person. You ran over to me, wrapping your thin arms around me and sobbing into my shirt. "She's gone, Monsieur! Mama is gone...I have nowhere to go now!" _Gone? Antoinette Giry...gone? _My heart sank at the thought. She had not survived the fire that I had started. I killed her. I killed your mother, and yet here you were, clinging to me with every ounce of strength you had left.

We stood there for hours it seems, weeping for the woman who had given all of herself to protect and care for us. I imagined her fighting her way through the flames, crying out your name with every last breath. She never found you. You were in my caverns that night. I watched you from behind the curtain, curiosity drying my tears for only a moment. You found my mask, turning it over in your hands. When the mob closed in around you, you persuaded them to go back, to remember the fire. In their fear, they neglected to look back, to see if you were following them. Instead, you fell asleep on my bed, clutching the mask to your heart.

I didn't disturb you, even if I'd had the strength. Instead, I lost myself in my heartbreak, barely noticing when you left. And now, now it seemed that we were both alone. I owed it to your mother to take care of you. She had helped me when I was a boy, hiding me in the caves beneath the opera house. Yes, I would do this for her and for her memory. And so, when your sobs took the rest of your strength, when you passed out in my arms, I carried you down to the shelter of my caverns. I carried you into the lake, holding you in one arm while rubbing the cool water over your fragile and ash-covered body. And oh, if only you could have seen the beauty that was revealed! If only you could have seen yourself through my eyes then. To be sure, you were not like Christine. No, you had beauty that was all your own.

When the water had done it's work, I carried you to my bed, wrapping blankets around you. Cold and soaked as you were, I knew your mother would not have approved of me doing anything with your dress. Instead, I left you to your sleep, hoping that yours was not as filled with nightmares as mine have always been.

I was not used to having company. Especially for an indefinite amount of time. All my life, it had just been me. But I could not throw you out into the streets of Paris to fend for yourself. I could never allow you to face the rejection and loneliness that I had learned to cope with. No, for once in my life, I decided to do something right. My selfishness had led only to heartbreak and destruction. The Phantom was gone; in his place stood a new man. To be sure, I was still broken. But you needed me to be strong. If we were going to survive, I had to place my own desires aside.

While you slept, I built. I carved you a comb out of a piece of wood smoothed by the lake water. I swam to the far side of the lake to fetch the boat Christine and Raoul had taken. Dragging it out of the water, I made it into a bed for you. It was much smaller than my own in comparison, but it was a start. When all that was done, you were still sleeping, and so I prepared some food for you. I did not have much, but I would not let you starve on my watch. And so I sang to you until you woke up. You were still weak, and so I helped you sit so you could eat. I let you lean on me while I moved the comb through your tangles, and when your hair was smooth once more, I tied a black ribbon in your hair. I would have showed you your bed then, but you had already fallen back to sleep.

This time while you slept, I made some of my old clothes into new dresses for you. I remember your face when you saw the dress I made out of my Red Death costume. (I believe it quickly became your favorite, did it not?) I could do nothing about shoes, but with a few scraps of satin I was at least able to make you a pair of ballet slippers. I have always been pleased with your dancing ability. It was the one thing I had never trained myself to do, and so I could appreciate every leap and twirl that you made.

With each project I did for you, I found that it helped to take my mind off of Christine. Still, every once in awhile, she would appear in my thoughts and dreams, and I would find myself gasping for breath, my face covered in sweat and tears, and my chest feeling as though it would burst. In those moments, I would grab for the nearest instrument and begin playing whatever music came to me. While it did not take the pain completely away, it helped me move past my tears and focus on taking care of you.

**As the years** passed, as you regained your strength to face each day, we helped each other through our grief. Many nights, when I allowed myself to sleep, thoughts and dreams of Christine would force me into a fit of sobs, and you would soon be at my side, caressing my face and assuring me that everything would be okay. Many nights, when I watched you sleep, I could tell when you were thinking about your mother, and I would take you in my arms and let you rest your head on my shoulder.

During the day, while I was busy with my music or some other project, you would lose yourself in one of my many books. You would read about the same foreign lands that I had once read and dreamed about, and we would talk about them as we ate. I never grew tired of the way your eyes lit up, and even when I was in a bitter mood after thinking about Christine, I could never be angry with you for long. To see you cry always broke my heart; I hated to be the cause of it when I did allow my words to go too far. And when you did cry because of me, your face would always light right back up again at the simplest token of my apology. It might have been a white rose(red would always be reserved for Christine...the two of you were so different that even if I had wanted to, I would never have been able to replace her with you.) or a simple sketch or even a new hair ribbon...it didn't matter to you. You once told me that as long as I meant it from the heart, that was all that counted.

Some of your pain, however, I could not ease because it was so deep inside you. You didn't have to tell me or shed any tears. I could see it in your face or hear it in a distant sigh at the dinner table. Even though I was there, sharing in your loneliness, you were still lonely. I could not fully understand, as I had been without my mother all my life. For you, this was completely new, no matter how many years went by. She had kept you close to her side, protecting her from me and from any other dangers lurking in the opera house corridors after curfew. Even though I was lonely for Christine, I could at least remember a time before she set foot inside the opera house.

And then I realized that your pain was worse than my own. Not only had you lost your mother, you had lost a friend close enough to be your sister. I remember asking you why you hadn't gone with Christine. You said that by the time you emerged from the caverns, she and the Vicomte were long gone, giving you up for dead. You said you had no way of getting in touch with them, and you felt it was better this way. "It's best she get a fresh start, with no links to the opera house to fill her with sorrow," you concluded. Though it pained me to hear that, I knew it was true.

My pain, I was used to. I could always turn to my music. I think you would have danced to ease your pain, had there been sufficient room in the caverns. I remember the few times you did attempt to dance, but your movements were more guarded and not as free as we both would have liked. The one time you tried a leap, you nearly ended up in the lake! I would have laughed then, but your face showed so much frustration, I used my effort to reassure you instead.

One thing I knew for sure was that you needed a way to release all your pent up emotions. And so, I gave you free choice of any of my instruments. I would teach you how to play whichever you chose. I remember you selected the harp right away. It was not one of the main instruments that I played, so I was happy to give it to you. You were such a dedicated student, it was not long before I could relax and watch your fingers dance across the strings. I loved watching your eyes close, for I knew exactly what you were feeling. You drank in the music, letting it break through the walls that had built up inside you.

I am mentioning all of this, my dear, because I am trying to remember when it happened. In all the years we spent together in those caverns, I don't remember the exact time that I realized I had fallen in love with you. Was it in a particular smile or a night I watched you sleeping peacefully? Perhaps in a song I heard you play on your harp or in one of the moments you held me while I cried. Maybe it was all of those things. Either way, I remember the first time we kissed. It was a night I had slipped into sleep, and as always, I awoke to find myself drowning in my tears. You were soon at my side, as you had always been in those moments. Unlike all those other times, however, the dream was completely different. Instead of imagining Christine with me, I pictured her with the Vicomte, surrounded by their children. And she was smiling. I did not feel angry or jealous, however. I had watched them dancing in a field, laughing together, and I was completely at peace. She was happy. Hadn't that been what I had always wanted for her? To be sure, it was not with me, but I could never have offered her what she'd really wanted. I knew that now. And so, when you were sitting there, caressing my face, I wanted to show you that things were different. And so, my lips found yours. You were startled at first, but soon I could tell that you were returning my love. Hadn't that been what I'd always wanted?

The one thing I regret, Marguerite, about all those years we had together is that you were taken from the light and the fresh air above the caverns. I could not give you a proper wedding ceremony as I am sure you had always dreamed about. I could only give you myself. I am sure your mother would have frowned upon the nights we spent wrapped around each other, becoming one as we shared in the passion of our love, but it could not be helped. You told me time and time again that you understood. Even so, there were countless mornings when we were too lazy to get out of bed, when you dozed while I held you close, where I would silently vow to give you something more. You deserved a song.

**It's been** two years since your death, my dearest Meg, and I have finally finished your song. It has taken so long because I wanted it to be perfect. I began it even before you became ill. Our child you carried inside you took all your energy. I could not leave your side for a single moment. As the months passed and your belly grew, I could tell that something was wrong. We did all we could, dearest Meg, but despite all our efforts, Little Annabelle was born lifeless, and you soon followed her into death.

For the longest time, I stayed by your still bodies, for once again, I was alone. I remembered your words of comfort, however, and they strengthened me. And so, I was finally able to place you in your red dress inside a simple coffin, our daughter in your arms. I forced myself to anchor the coffin in the bottom of the lake so that you're never too far away. But what helped the most was I still felt you with me. As I sat at the organ, lost for words and notes, I could feel your arms around me. I did not deserve you, dearest Meg. I did nothing to deserve your love. Yet you stayed by my side through everything. You gave me a reason to live again...you completed me. And now that you are gone, I can still hope. You have shown me even a disfigured creature can love and be loved in return. I do not picture myself with anyone else, but I don't plan on wallowing in my grief forever either. I will keep writing music that I've always wanted the world to hear. Someday, I will leave the caverns to deliver it, but I will return to you, my love.

It's been two years, and your song is finally perfect. Here it is, my love. Wherever you are, I hope you can see it and know that your love has given me strength to face whatever future lies before me.

_Weeping willow_

_ Rise from the ashes_

_ Of all that is past_

_ Weeping willow_

_ Our play is not over_

_ You're still in the cast_

_ You are still here_

_ You can still give_

_ Give shade from the burning sun_

_ And shelter from the pouring rain_

_ Let songbirds build nests in your branches_

_ Let me hide behind your veil of tears_

_ Do not be afraid to weep, dearest willow._

_Weeping willow_

_ Rise from the ashes_

_ Of all that is past_

_ Weeping willow_

_ Our play is not over_

_ You're still in the cast_

_ You are still here_

_ You can still give_

_ Your weeping is like a cooling breeze_

_ Filling my ears and my soul with peace_

_ As I am sure it is soothing for you_

_ Take the weight of the world off your shoulders_

_ Do not be afraid to weep, dearest willow_

_ Weeping willow_

_ Rise from the ashes_

_ Of all that is past_

_ Weeping willow_

_ Our play is not over_

_ You're still in the cast_

_ You are still here_

_ You can still give_

_ Dig your roots into the water's edge_

_ As you drink in, let your tears pour out_

_ As you drink, you'll grow deeper_

_ As you weep, you'll grow taller_

_ As you grow, you'll get stronger each day_

_ Weeping willow_

_ Rise from the ashes_

_ Of all that is past_

_ Weeping willow_

_ Our play is not over_

_ You're still in the cast_

_ You are still here_

_ You can still give_

_ Weeping willow,_

_ Rise from the ashes_

_ Weeping willow_

_ You are still here_

_ Weep, willow, weep._

**A/N: I also owe another shoutout to Ace of Gallifrey and her 'Erik's Song' YouTube video. The video and the lyrics to that song by Vienna Teng really inspired the whole form and style of where I wanted this story to go. **

** "Weeping Willow" is my own song, written especially for this story. **

** Feedback is always welcome! Thanks! :)**


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